


Dear George...

by SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:19:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/U </p><p>What if at Edward IV's birth Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, doubted his legitimacy, claimed he was the son of an archer and did not acknowledge him. What the would happen when Edmund of Rutland died at Wakefield?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impulse of the heart

Rouen,   
English France  
Summer 1441. 

**'M** adam, surely you could be so kind as to offer a walk with me? Your husband would not so mind you being in my company would he?" The man was tall, golden haired with the blue eyes to rival the colour of a perfect meditatanian ocean. He had been playing this game all day and of course Cecilee Neville knew it well, the man cared little as to whether she would or woul not walk with him, it was his poilite way of offering her his bed. She had tried hard, ignoring him for much of the day. Of course she found this man attractive, oh very much so. He had persisted, with the determnation of the devil to seduce her. Fnally he was close to succeeding, she did not want to betray Richard, how she loved that man, that man in Pontroise fighting, risking his life for King Henry VI, risking his life for her; her pride and dignity. Yet women she thought, women had needs too. She rested a delicate hand on the arm of the chair and smiled to the young man before her.   
  
"Master Bleybourne, we have a small problem, in that I do not know who you are, tell me."  
  
"Lord Bleybourne madam, lord."  
  
"Truly?" She raised a sceptical eye brow and looked the man over.   
  
"Well.."  
  
"No. You are not, but an archer for the English garison, you thought to impress me by lying about your title? Dear boy I am married to the duke of York. You coiuld not impress me by being a mere lord. Not even an earl." She laughed a cold yet welcoming laugh and stood, ignoring all the signs she walked with him, allowing him to take her arm in his and be guided to the bed chamber, where delicatelty gently he performed his act.  
  
If she had been mistaken before that day, four weeks later she was not, she was most certainly with child. 

 

     *     *   

          *           *           *        

April 28th 1442

**"M** y lord, would you care-"  
  


"No, get that child away from me." The Duke of York strode into his wifes bed chamber, surprising all maids, his wfe also with his forwardness Cecilee Neville began to make an objection, looking to her husband in shock, her heart beating a speed enough to make her think it would break from her chest and escape, spilling all its secets along with it. All was gone when Richard Plantagenet, her sweet sweet gentle Richard sent a hard hand around her face, her cheek bruised in an instant, he lifted her from the bed, looked at her and dropped her. He could not hurt her, not his Cecilee, not his proud Cis, his love, his darling.. Not matter what she had done. With a look to the maid holding the bastard child he shrugged.   
  
"Richard..."  
  
"Do not." He turned to his wife who had made the objection. "He is not my son, I have a letter to confirm it. Whilst I was in Pontroise you, you my wife, laid with another man, an archer, a peasant! A peasant woman! You lay with a peasant and produced that...." His eyes looked over the child, he almost sobbed, caught the break in his voice before it betrayed him, he coughed and downcast his eyes She had given that peasant atcher, that coward whio had fled before he faced him, she had given him what he had yet to get rom her, a strong healthy son. "You gave him a boy?"  
  
"Richard, he's you-"  
  
"Dont lie to me woman! How can that be?"  
  
"He's early-"  
  
"That he is." He said it with a laugh and took the child in his arms, looking it over, convinced the child could not be his, those vbrent blue eyes the blond tufts, a contrast to his own dark hair, his grey eyes. This baby was twice the size of any he and Cecilee had so far produced. Joan, Anne, Henry... All had been small, weak, this child thrived and how it cut into him deep, deep enough for a tear to reach his eye he handed the child back to the maid firmly. "He is yours woman." He addressed it to the maid, "You are to raise him as a servnts boy, he will be privleged enough to-"  
  
"Richard!" Cecilee sat upon in suddent objection, harsh eyes bearing upon her husband, angry eyes. "He is my son! He shall be raised as such!"  
  
"Fine, take the child to a private chamber, he can be acknowledged as my wife's child, and she acknowledged as a whore, as to her-"  
  
"Okay. You have won your battle Richard, if you doubt he is yours,, he may be raised a servants child but grant me one thing."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He is to be christened, Edward will be his name,"  
  
"He cannot, Cecilee he must be acknowledged to be christened, a bastard child has no place in being.-" Her eyes said it all, he would find a servant, he would have this girl says she was married and her husband died in her pregnancy, she would have the little baby christened, he would claim she was his favourite servant, a loyal girl and he would pay for the christening Then that child, that brat of Bleybourne could be away from him forever. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dublin, England  
1449

 

Cecylee Neville fled her rooms, she walked slower than normal for the birth of her newest son, George Plantagenet had worn her into exhaustion, she had only wanted to rest, to lay in bed as she was supposed to and not focus on a single stress or worry; then she had got the news, one of Edmund's servants had been taken down with fever after a kicking from the duke. She had been furious with Richard, how many times had she the need to tell her husband not to lay hand upon the servants? They were after all people too. Yer Richard had not listened to her, he had blatantly defied her, she had had obviously such little influence over him since.... Bleybourne. The name had come to mind and dropped before her as though it were an anvil on her toe, the pain throbbed, she'd spent hours trying to put it aside, put the thoughts that came with it aside. Her sleep had been cut short by that name, it was as though someone were in her chamber, whispering.  
  
 _Edward... Edward..._

 __  
She'd finally been able to take it no longer, she'd waited until sure that the nurses were asleep before she'd wrapped her cloak around her and left her chambers quietly, a candle in her hand to light the way she had waked slowly, silently through the castle. She'd entered the servants quarters minutes before, walked undisturbed to the small wooden door which led to the castle's cellar, knocked and waited for the door to open.The familiar woman looked out, her blond hair knotted, her dress covered in blood stains and the smell of sweat and sick followed her, it was pungent, her circumstances dire, yet the poor woman managed a smile and opened the door, allowing the duchess to enter, to walk down the stone steps and into the main of the cellar, a three roomed house under the servants quarters, granted to the woman for her favours to the duke and his duchess. Cecylee stopped by a small burning fire, choking on the smoke, the smell of cheap meat cooking disturbed her thoughts, made her gulp. Her son would be eating this later, a meal of a peasant, not the meal of the noble boy he was. "Where is Edward?"  
  
"Asleep Madam."  
  
"Where?"  
  
The woman curtsied and walked quietly to a smaller wooden door, pushing it open and allowing the duchess to enter, her eyes set upon the box bed, the smoke, the fire burning in the cove, the little wooden stool with the wooden bucket of filthy water, she could not believe that they, such rich people, such powerful people, could let any of their staff live like this, she held back a sob only for the sake the boys eyes opened, he'd looked around, coughed, wiped sweat from his forehead with a tiny hand and rolled. Cecylee had hoped it had not been him to be laying in bed with a raging fever which would likely be the death of him if the duke did not act, which the duke of York would not act and she knew, no matter how it pained her. Richard of course thought that as he was, she was over the boy, had forgotten the entire incident around Bleybourne, had forgotten the child was hers and not simply the child of some good for nothing peasant, a peasant Cecylee noted who had taken away much of the shame which she would otherwise have been exposed to, had taken away much of the humiliation Richard would have been exposed to. That did not matter to him, he had forbidden her from visiting the boy  as her son many years back. It broke her heart as the boy reached out a hand and called "Mama."   
  


She had so wanted to reach out, indeed she had, touched the boys forehead, making him crying out for his mother only more. The poor servant girl approached, walking slowly from her own exhaustion of looking after him all day and lifted him into her arms as she sat upon the cheap bed and rocked him, holding him to her breast humming lightly before she sang in an angelic voice. Of course, Cecylee watched in clear wonder, clear longing for it to be she, this beautiful child's mother who held him and sang to him. She hardly noticed as the door opened and the the duke of York walked in, looking to her in his fury. "Wife you are supposed to be at rest."  
  
"Husbamd what brings you down here my lord?"  
  
"I looked for you in your chamber, you were not there, I knew you would come looking, heard the boy was ill did you?"  
  
"In fever for your merciless actions."  
  
"He warranted-"  
  
"He is a child Richard. A child." She coughed the words, holding back the breaking in her voice and the tears from her eyes, she looked away from her husband pretending it was the smoke and not emotion which stung her eyes.   
  
"Hand the boy to me girl." The woman curtsied and handed the child to the duke who held the boy easily in his arms looking him over, using his hand to detect temperature. "Wife would it please you for this child to see a physician? To be cleaned in safe water?"  
  
"That it would, please us all it would."  
  
For the moment that past it seemed it would not happen, that the Duke of York had offered such kindness, dangled it before them only to deny it. Then he nodded, lifted the child higher and left, calling for Cecylee to join him.

 

***

"Hush my darling." The duchess smiled, seeing her son be carried in by the woman he thought to be his mother, struggling slightly and hiding pink cheeks as she tried to undress him. "Our lady has seen a boy naked before Ned, think of Edmund, Lord Edmund is her son, she had bathed him."  
  
"But mama.." He trailed off and hid his face in her dress, Cecylee heard a child's giggle and then he was lifted and the hose stripped from him despite his struggling, he was carried to a fire, wrapped in toweling cloths and placed on a settle before the fire whilst a bath of copper was carried in, steaming water following swiftly.   
  
"Come on then you." The blond serving woman lifted the child placing him in the steaming liquid watching as he winced. "My lady, I should-"  
  
"No, you leave, take your rest, I will wash the boy, he'll sleep in a chamber close to me this night."  
  
"But mama-"  
  
"You heard our lady Ned, you'll sleep in one of the big rooms, a big bed." The woman said it with a tear, she turned away from the boy she had brought up to be her son, Cecylee had said nothing of taking the boy back, of telling him whom his real mother was, yet she feared this would be so. So much of her was happy at that thought, his life of serving would be over, a new start would be offered, he could be a noble man with opportunities opened she could never offer him, yet the duke would likely make him an exile, would likely see him running for his life, she could not have that, she could not see an eight year old boy, so small and gentle, so innocent, running for his life from a man with an army who would hunt him without mercy. 

"Maman!" He screamed and threw water onto Cecylee as she lifted a cloth, wet from the water and wrung it, pressing it lightly to his skin. She laughed, sodden, her silk skirts steaming as the boy struggled from the bath trying to climb over the edge.   
  
  
"Edward!" Cecylee called the name as though he knew, the boy looked at her, Richard's blue eyes staring right at hers, she shuddered. That moment brought the realisation upon her, it made her skin crawl with the guilt, what if this child was indeed Richard's son? Her foolishness had let her tongue slip for fear, and Bleybourne was not this child's father, then this had all been for nothing. He settled back in the water silently letting her scrub him, crying as she rubbed soap and then bristles from a brush of horse hair against his skin, occasioanally splitting a scab layer which sealed deep wounds. "I am sorry sweeting." She stroked his tawny hair before using a discarded wine goblet to wet his hair, wringing it gently in her hands. Satisfied she nodded to the childs 'mother' who held out a warmed toweling cloth, watching as Cecylee delicately lifted the  boy and wrapped him in the cloths kissing his head without thought, a gesture the boy found most strange, yet her kept silent, listening to the duchess' heart as she carried him through the grand halls he was used to running, laidened down with trays and goblets, trying to avoid the wrath of the duke, which tended he knew to be painful.

That very man now approached, watching with the slightest satisfactory smile on his face as the boy hid his face and visibly shuddered, he heard a cry and almost laughed, silenced only by the cold look Cecylee gave him. "My lord." her tone was hard, unwelcoming as she walked past him with a confident stride, refusing to make eye contact, refusing to let him near in case he should reach out and try harm the brat trying to hide in her arms. The brat who had learned the hard way to fear him. Although Richard had noticed today as no other that the child in many ways was similar to he, not only in his attitude, one which displayed stubborn nature, one which rivalled his own, and cheer, cheer he did not possess, cheer he longed for, had possessed in his earliest years of childhood, his eyes, oh those eyes he'd only seen upon himself and dear Edmund, Anne too if he looked close enough, and Cecylee, how much of his wife he saw in the boy, it was undeniable and one day he would surely know, one day it would occur to him. One day Cecylee would tell him. 

"Wife."  
  
She stopped dead hearing Richards tone, she looked around seeing the love in his eyes, love she had thought she would not see again "A bed has been made in your chambers, have him sleep there. Tomorrow we shall discuss, he would make a good squire, a good chamberlain for lord Edmund, should he be strong enough by the weeks end to leave for Ludlow."  
  
"I thank you lord husband." She curtsied and with the hint of a smile she hurried away, a tear still sitting in her eye, for she knew this gesture of kindness was Richard's way to tell her, Edward was not to be told of who true maternity, instead he would rise in the ranks to squire and page. One day he could hope to be a knight. 


	3. Chapter 3

Summer 1450

 

It was as though all had been forgotton, Cecylee Neville smiled as she watched the older boys on their horses, cantering beside one another, laughing and smiling, earliet that day they had practised jousting. of course, she had been so frightened, little George had been on her knee, watching and giggling with an infants fascination as she had watched ehr sons with a mothers terror. Edmund had the advantage she knew, the older of her boys had barely used a horse till now, three months ago she would have said never, though at eight he was taking well too it. The armout Richard had bought fof him fit snuggly and he was indeed growing better at the art of jousting, as good almost as he was with a sword or a bow. She triied to restrain her laugh as she thought of that now, recieving a curious look from her husband to which she offered a smile and shrug. She would not tell him how much she thought of Bleybourne, how ironic she thought it to be whe she saw young Edward with a bow and arrow. Edmund brought his horse to a stop and jumped down greeting his father, telling Edward, the boy he thought nothing more than his page to hurry. Edward jumped downn and offered a boy to the duke and duchess and followed quickly after Edmund. Cecylee could not help but risk a galnce to her husband, confirmed his eyes following the elder of the boys, he had gulped strong and downcast his eyes. Even if she thought of Bleyborune when she looked at Edward, the boy was looking more and more like the duke everyday, even he could not deny that he certainly was the image of his younger brother. Never before had two boys looked so alike. As though on cue the duke smiled and muttered. "Its uncanny, for a moment I could have mistaken them.." he cut off and finished he sentence with a smooth chuckle. Cecylee smiled as she followed him back inside the castle.

  
She ended up following her husband into Edmund's bed chamber, where the boy sat alert, looking over a book she had not seen before. They were greeted  by instant bows and muttered 'your grace's and then the duke spoke "Will you leave us." He looked to the servants, each of whom began to pile out, Edward of course was last, the Edmund's squire and page it was his job to ensure that the room was secure before he left, as he began to walk Cecylee rested a hand on his shopulder by impulse, unable to control her instinct, he gave her a curious look, a polite bow and tried to leave before the duke said "You can stay boy." Cecylee smiled and seated herself on a settle watching as Edward settle down onto the straw matress which sat in a cold corner of the room, he wrapped a blanket about his shoulder and looked up, curious but trying to his such. "Edmund, I have great news for you."  
  
"My lord father?"  
  
"I am to make you an Earl, Earl of Rutland."  
  
"By order of the king?"  
  
"With permission from the king, poor King Harry knows nothing of giving orders, unfortunately his wife, the French witch of Anjou knows only too much of it." Only Cecylee and Edward held back on their laughs, though of course she could see Edward did want to laugh, unproper he knew it was to do so. Of course it was not long before the questiobn was asked, the question she too had wanted to hear the answer to.  
  
"I thought the earldom of March was the next to be offered to the heir of York father? Why the Earldom of Rutland bestowed upon me?"  
  
The Duke's smile faltered, he took a sharp inhale of breath and his eyes darted to the boy in the corner, back to his Edmund. "I thought you would prefer the title, "  
  
"Of course, but the Earldom fo March has run from the Mortimers for generations, to whom will you give it?"  
  
"George, when is old enought o accept it I feel."   
  
She felt her heart pound within her chest, her husband had lied and she knew it, George would not be an earl, the earldom had been resserved, as Richard had questionned t#hat afternoon, he was once again doubting the paternity of the boy who sat in teh corner watching with eyes obviously wondering why he had been kept within the room, this time though she knew, Richard was questionning if the boy was Bleybourne's or his own. he second he was beginning to think more likely. 

 

***

1455

 

She had watched him grow from boy to man, well almost manhood. Edward was thirteen and close to knighted, he had earned his place of honour at Fotheringhay and Richard had started trusting him more and more, accepting him almost with kindness and informality, treating him as he treated Edmund. He even had his own chambers within the castle, he ate at the head table upon the dais and he played games with George and little Dickon. She saw him smile as he chased the boys around the castle's grounds, even through the bazarre, each time bringing her beautiful toddlers back laughing and safe, unscathed. Richard ahd told her that morning that she would soon enough have need to tell Edward the truth, she would, for the boy now dressed as a lord should, he raised ranks quickly, spoke, ate and fought like a gentleman yet her still called the serving wench his mother. She almost wept each time she called for him and he ran, smiling, calling her 'Ma mere', the words he should be calling her. Richard had said it was time, he had said to tell the boy that his father was Richard Plantagenet, duke of York and that the misunderstanding had been to great, that we had not known where he had gone untilt that day i had taken him into our house to care for him. 

  
How could she ever tell him? How could he ever forgive them?

The reality hit her once more as tears filled her eyes, the familiar voice shouted ' _Ned!' and with a smile he_ ran to her, unquestioning, not even glancing to his true mother. So caught up she ahdbeen that she had not heard Edmund's approach, he sat beside her silent and followed her eyes, seeing his page Edward speaking with hi mother, a servant in the household and scoffed looking back to the tears in his mothers eyes. "has he hurt you ma mere? I'll see him whipped if he has." she smiled and shook her head, resting a delicate hand on his arm, sweet Edmund, at only twelve he had been forced to gorw up so quickly, though only he in his boyhood he had a manliness, the need to protect women that was not their in the selfish interests of children. Of course with all the charm of manhood came also the demanding need to know, a need she on this occasaion would not grant him before Edward, even as he looked at her with measured determination. "Ma mere-"  
  
"I am fine Edmund, I am just worried about him that is all."  
  
"Why so mother?"  
  
  
"Does he not seem changed since March?" Edmund raised an eyebrow and shook his head, his mother he knew was referring to the battle of St Albans, a battle he had insited on taking Edward along to. it had been enfuriating that his father the duke would take his page, a squire of only a year older than he and not his heir, not his son the Earl foRutland, the oen who should be fighting so determinedly for the House of York, not the son of some serving wench. Edmund shook his head again.  
  
"No ma mere, he is fine, you should not worry for him, he seems fine to me, besides his own mother seems capable of looking after his needs."  
  
Yes, she is thought Cecylee, but she cannot offer him the care he needs, poor boy she thought. All she wanted was to run down the stairs and tell him, to wrap her arms around him and have him know why, for the first time in thirteen long years. 

 

 

 

 

He had taken to his bed again, or so Cecylee Neville was told when she tried to visit Edward, apparently he had warranted himself a whipping from Lord Rutland, a whipping she would have need to interroagte him about later, after of course she had seen her son. The serving woman and Edwards step mother had been growing more reluctant to allow Cecylee her visits to her son, she guessed because of the changes, because of the time he was now spending in the castle and of course because of St Albans. None had been happy to drag a thriteen year old with them, least of all the boys step mother, but Richard had insisted, calimed he needed men and that thirteen was plenty old enough to fight and would give the boy chance to prove himself. Edward of course had been eager. Too eager. The woman had eventually, at an order opened the door to her and allowed her into the small smoke filled house. The duchess had choked and called the boy forward, he had come,  barely awake and hurridly dressed, she had signalled for him to sit after he had finished bowing. "Madam, you wish to see me again, I do not know for what i owe these plea-"  
  
"I have something I need to tell you, the duke has sent me with word."  
  
"My Lord of Rutland? Is he ill? Need you for me to return now?" He was quick to rise, sitting as she waved a hand and shook her head, thankful he sat back clearly relieved. "Thank Jesu for that."  
  
"indeed." She took several nervous breaths, helped slightly as the boy bought her time standing to help his mother with cheap pots and fetching water, he returned sodden and unsmiling, a bruise about his face he muttered inaudible words to his step mother and rejoined the duchess.   
  
"You should hurry yourself my lady, your husband wills it you leave my presence."   
  
"I am sure my lord husband will be-" she cut off ehr words losing all colour as the door flung open, the familiar face burning into her, their eyes met, her breath caught, his words refused to leave his mouth and he bowed deeply as she stood.   
  
"My lady." Bleybourne swiftly stood upright, walked into the house and glanced at Edward who quickly stood looking at the man before him, smiled and called him father much to Cecylee's despair, more so as she looked over the man she had once laid with. He wore Lancastrian colours, the coat of armsof his lord the Duke of Somerset, now she knew also who had laid hand upon her son. "A pleasant surprise you be here."  
  
"Monseur Bleybourne, I welcome you to Fortheringhay, though your coats are hardly welcomed."  
  
"The Duke of Somerset sent me not for liesure madame, instead for my son, for his to join our force. His lord thanks you greatly for training him so well, well nough' for him to play hand in the murder of his lords father."  
  
"I did not wish-"  
  
"Hold your tongue brat!"  
  
"Gods-"  
  
"Edward!" He had barely started spluttering the insult when his mother yelled from by the stove, looking at him and offering an apology the duchess. Edward offered one too and sat as Bleybourne threw him down, a hand clipping his head hard. Cecylee knew she had to fight, to call RIchard down here, have Bleybourne executed if that would be what it took, for if she let Edward go now, she would lose him forever, he would be raised Lancastrain, raised to hate York. 


	4. Chapter 4

Ludlow  
1459

The forces marched in making much noise as Cecylee Neville stood with her sons George and Richard in the market of Ludlow, an abandoned market. The soldiers stopped before her and her children, George stood boldly, trying to look brave as Edmund had ordered before he left, even seven year old Richard played his hand at bravery too, though to degres of lesser success than his older brother, he held back the tears so clear in his tiny blue eyes. Cecylee watched as men filed in on horseback, Henry Beaufort, the duke of Somerset prominant amongst them, he stopped, looked and appeared almost overjoyed atthe sight as he steered the horse over, removing his helmet he smiled. "My Lady, tell me, where is your husband."  
  
"Away my lord."  
  
"Impossible, he was here this night last."  
  
"Aye, and fled with Rutland ere this morrow."  
  
"He fled?"  
  
"Indeed." She did not look shambed, unlike George. Poor George, the boy was old enough to understand the shame of running, yet too young was he to fully comprehend the situation, he did not see that his father and brother were dead for sure had they been found here at Ludlow. The Duke of Somerset cast a curious glance to the duchess, letting his eyes fall over York's boys, he noticed the little one shudder, the older one tried to stare him down but gave in with a child's submission, retreating close to his mother who took  him in an embrace. "My lord, I beg you for I know not what you want-"  
  
"York, since I cannot have him madam then Ludlow shall do."  
  
"Ludlow? But my lord, these people have done no wrong."  
  
"Cept' they support York for his cause!"  
  
"Nay!"  
  
"Aye madam, they do, you know it so-"  
  
"You are wrong my lord-" Her words left her as she looked to the boy who moved his horse through the soldiers slowly, for a moment the horror hit her and she thought it were Edmund, returned and submitting himself to Somerset for pardon to Ludlow. She was wrong, she gulped and looked down, pretended not to know the boy as he appaorched and addressed the Duke of Somerset in a voice so much a gentleman's he made King Henry look a peasant.   
  
"My lord, I myself searched the parimeter, they were not close, gone for some time else hiding inside."  
  
"Thank you Ned, fortunate I am to have you with me." He smiled to Cecylee for that one, as though he knew all her secrets. She shuddered, a gesture not missed by Edward who raised her an eyebrow and shrugged turning his horse, stopping only as Somerset held up a hand. "Hold Ned, not so fast, you wish no part in the destruction of Ludlow?"  
  
"I wish no-"  
  
"Always the gentle soul. Hop off your horse and join me in the church, we shall make it a court methinks. Else if you'd prefer, join the men out here in their rampage."   
  
"I should rather guard our lady York, unless you should want her killed or freed?"  
  
"Nay, neither, but gaurd her you shall not." Somerset had not forgotten where this boy had spent his childhood, had not forgotten what Bleybourne had said when he had offered the boy as an ally for Lancaster, he was close with the duchess of York, perhaps dangerously so, he would not now take risk that the boy would ruin the plans of Lancasterm, the plans of somerset and of Magaret of Anjou, no. He would join somerset in the court house or the soldiers in the bazarre, that choice was his own. He smiled as Edward jumped from the horse, tying it to a post and joining the men who already were beginning their riot, happier still as Ludlow in less than an hour was looking something as the bible described was the way only hell could look. 

  
Cecylee had watched in horror as women and children were mercilessly dragged from their houses, stripped and beaten, some killed. Men were beheaded, hung, stabbed, beaten, women raped, beaten, hung and burned. The screaming was endless, the smell foul. she kept her eyes moving, looking for Somerset, Oxford, Clifford... anyone, anyone who could rid her children from this situation, blind them to such horrors. She called out to the only familiar face in the sea of Lancastrian monsters, Edward turned and walked slowly toward her, sword drawn and eyes cold, looking over the boys and then her, he offered a bow for courtesy, manners and lower rank "My Lady.|"  
  
"You remember me Edward? Always so good-"  
  
"I remember your husband, your son, their beating and tauntings yes madame."  
  
"My boys George and Dickon, you remember my boys Edward? You used to-" She was cut off as a sob almost escaped. Those cold blue eyes were those of a man who had seen too much, experienced too much to care for sentiment, for memories or for soft hearted exchanges, he would likely kill the boys given the chance, both for his training and his hatred. Somerset would have ordered against it though, if he were a decent man. 

  
"I remember them." He sighed and looked at them then glanced behind him he ran to his horse and guided it closer handing the reins to Cecylee he turned away pretending he did not know, she knew his game, if he could not see her leave with the children, he could not be accountable, he could not say a word against them. Although it was minutes before he barely heard the hooves, minutes before relief almost filled his heart it was the words she whispered as she brought the horse to standstill beside him. "I'm your mother Edward, remember that so long as you live."   
  
He heard her gallop away, felt his ehart pound, she had only told him for she expected he would die here at Somersets hand today, but was there not something she had wanted to tell him when last they had seen each other? He turned to try and glimpse them as they speeded through the crowds upstopped, but it was far too late for any calling out, she was gone from sight and hearing. 

 

 

 

 

It was nigh on midnight, she had finally managed to have the boys in bed, their breaths patterened and their eyes closed. She had achieved their sleep with a fight, Richard had spent the night crying, the horrors he had witnessed that day now haunting his night and such had been irritating George, the mix had not worked well and she had found Richard crying and George trying to hit him for his weakness. She had finally managed to get them both to sleep and ready for bed herself when the noise had disturbed her.  A quiet noise, yet out of place, a footstep on stone stairs, moving up them and toward her chamber. How she hoped this had not woken Richard, she walked almost silently to the chamber door taking the risk her husband would have forbidden, had he stuck around long enough to know of what she was doing, that was his loss. She looked to the man who covered his face, a tall man holding a candle, a man she had not invited into the castle, a man who could reep death upon the household. she said nothing for a moment, he would not, for she had no need to question who this figure was, after what she had said today at Ludlow's market, she was sure he would have come looking for her, sure he would have wanted answers. "Edward."  
  
"Mother?" he said the word in disbelief, he had spent the day questionning, his mind rolling over the information, probing through memories and trying to find answers. So much of it had not made sense, but that was what had made it believable, that it did not make sense for the duchess to say such if it were not true. Then it had all made sense, the visits, his sudden raise in rank, her care for his health, the way she had cared for him as a child.. yet then this truth had raised only more questions, whose son was he? Bleybourne's or the duke of York's? For he must find out where his loyalties must lie.   
  
She hurried him into her chamber silently closing the door, watching as he removed the cloak and sat upon a settle before the burning fire, she handed him a goblet or malmsey and a plate of bread and cheese. He ate quickly, rudely, as though he were a man who had not eaten in weeks, as though eating in front of her, a duchess, was normal to him. She waited until he had taken his fill, discarded the plate onto the table and looked at her, taking a drink before he spoke, spoke in a voice so similar to her husbands she almost gasped, closing her eyes to listen to him, it was as though the duke were with her in the room, with her all was as it once had been, they were all safe, back in Rouen. How she wished Richard could have accepted this boy at his birth, for she kenw over these last few years he had missed the boy, thought of him, had even come to accept the boy as his own. Only when it had become too late. 

"My father-"  
  
"The Duke, I'm rather sure of that, else Bleybourne is Edmund's father too."  
  
"You say I look alike your son?"  
  
"As though you were the same, subtle differences, a mother can see them. Your eyes, they differ, he's shorter-"  
  
"Younger."   
  
"You are as much Richard's as Edmund is."  
  
"You mean to say-"  
  
"You are heir to the house of York, fighting for Lancaster."  
  
"I must leave them find-"  
  
"You cannot, they'd find you and kill you for treason, yet they must not find out, for Edward, they would surely kill you then also." She stopped, stood and opened her coffer, looking through it she lifted the parchment she had meant to give him that day so many years ago, she handed it to him wayching his face as he unfolded the document, reading over it he gulped and looked up. "My husband wanted to make you Earl of March, keep it Edward, but show no one. For one day it may be your making or it may be your doom." 


	5. Chapter 5

"Take them all to the tower." George Plantagenet, newly crowned king of England, spoke to his Lord Richard Neville the Earl of Warwick. His temper had worsened since January when the news had reached him that both his father and brother Edmund had been killed at Wakefield. The Lord's of Lancaster knelt before him, heads bowed. 

"Your grace, your lady mother begs you spare-"

"Spare? Tell me, why should o spare a man of Lancaster?"

The Earl simply nodded, Somerset was lifted, Oxford and Exeter also were lifted from the floor with roughness that saw them wince and almost cry out, biting their lips to atop the sound. Warwick sighed as he watched the youth he had put on the throne, regretting the fact that Edmund, dear Edmund dead died so needlessly at Wakefield, how much better it could have been for York if the eldest son and not an I can't was on the throne, he wondered, what made them better an king Harry the name king who had taken the throne when he was just ten years younger than this Yorkist brat. Yet thus far, George had managed to keep his composer, to look the part of king and sound it equally, no break in his voice. "Bring him in then." He said the words with reluctance, a wave of the hand ans a look to the floor. Now was the hard part of being king to come, he would meet with the man his men had caught at Towton, the man whom along with the late . Lord Clifford was responsible for h of his poor brother the earl of Rutland. 

The man brought before then George knew was little older than his late brother, similar enough in looks to make both George and Warwick draw sharp breath as he was thrown down hard, a crack and whimper following his descent. For a moment, only a moment George would have, could have easily believed this man to be Edmund, if of course he had not seen, upon his many ventures to York, that terrible sight of those heads, his father's and brothers spiked upon Micklegate Bar.... his attention now turned to the man before him, bright blue eyes looking up to him, he needed say nothing, the eyes begged for his pardon more than words could offer him. "What is your name creature?"

"Edward your grace."

"Edward what?"

"I do not know sir."

"You know not your last name boy? Truly?" The words came from Warwick, accompanied by a tone rich with sarcasm, filled with mockery. All until the voice o familiar, so delicate liked the room with a tone so sharp it dug into all and made them shiver, made their prisoner look up and to Warwicks surprise, he smiled as the woman my 

"It is not uncommon my Lord of Warwick, not at all uncommon. For he is a poor boy I am sure, perhaps unknowing who his father is, am I correct?"

"I do not know for sure who my maman is either madam"

"My lady" Warwick corrected "this is the success of York and well you would do to remember such traitor, for the short time before you lose your breath. Come now George, quick quick, we should not tally on this, let's sign the warrant and be done with this traitor."

"I cannot" George starred blankly at the man before him, too similar he was to Edmund, to himself, he even held a vague familiar to Richard, it could not be that he could put this man to death, not when his mother had spoken up to Warwick for him, not when he did look so similar to the boys of York, not when, by a vague memory he did remember the man from somewhere, sometime long ago in his past. No,, he would find more about this Edward before he made the decision to put him to death for murder,treason and theft. "Put him in the Tower, I want all he knows."

The look of distress, boredom and irritation on the face of the earl of Warwick was the only of its sort, the success smiled to her son, the relief shone on Edwards face and the curiosity ebbed deep in George, though it was but moments later that Edwards face changed panic as the black clad men entered to escort him to the tower where his entire secret life would be uncovered, unless he could lose his tongue before the dreaded confessions came between sobs.


End file.
